Seducing the Knight (9 page)

She snapped the locket closed and drew in a breath.

“Memories?” a soft voice queried in Hebrew.

Jessamine turned to see that an older Bedouin woman had seated herself where Alan had sat. “Good memories.” Her voice dropped. “But that is in the past.”

“May I?” the woman asked, her gaze on the locket Jessamine still clasped in her hands. The dark-veiled woman opened the locket and smiled down at Jessamine’s parents. “So in love. I can see it in their eyes.” She brought her gaze back to Jessamine’s.

“Yes, they were definitely in love to give up all that they did.”

“Sometimes, one must give up one thing to receive something greater in return.” Jessamine looked up suddenly. Her gaze captured the old woman’s, held it. They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment. The fire hissed, sending a spray of red-gold sparks into the night air, and Jessamine felt a quiver of understanding leap between the two of them. The woman wanted to share something with her. But what?

Jessamine’s heart raced. “I am open to your wisdom, if you choose to share it with me.”

The woman offered her a soft smile. “I am the tribe’s visionary. I cannot tell you of a future that hasn’t happened yet, but I do have a gift for you.” She removed her hand from Jessamine’s arm and slipped it into the folds of her gown. From them, she withdrew a small packet that she opened with one hand. She brought the open packet to Jessamine’s locket and poured a small portion of fine, white powder onto the miniatures of her parents.

Jessamine gasped and nearly jerked away, but the
woman’s gaze met hers.
Trust me.
A peculiar sort of sadness showed in the old woman’s eyes.

“These herbs can be mixed with any liquid,” she explained. “You will find them useful should there be a time in the future when you need to render someone…”

“Unconscious?” Jessamine asked.

“Unresponsive,” the old woman corrected. She snapped the locket closed, then settled it once again against Jessamine’s gown. “You’ll know what I mean when the time is right.” The old woman stood. “I wish you well, my child. You will need all your strength for what lies ahead of you.”

Before Jessamine could ask her what she meant, the woman disappeared into the crowd of dancers. Jessamine frowned as she gripped her locket in her hands once more.

Special herbs. When the time is right. What ever could the old woman mean?

Alan glanced back at Jessamine to find her staring off into the distance with a sorrowful look in her eyes. With an effort, he disengaged his hands from the two young women’s. He offered them a bow and made his way to Jessamine. At his approach, her gaze met his, and she slid something metal into the depths of her bodice. He held her gaze and extended his hand. “Dance with me.”

Jessamine stood and, with a slight tremble in her fingers, took his hand. Wild music filled the chamber, reverberating off the stone until it sounded as though the melody came from every direction.

Slowly that look of loneliness vanished from her gaze, to be replaced with exhilaration as they twisted, turned, and stamped their feet, mimicking the Bedouins’ movements.

Alan found himself relaxing, and for the first time
since leaving Teba, he allowed himself to feel a moment of pleasure that wasn’t tempered with guilt. He was alive. He had survived that devastating battle. Gratitude resonated deep within him.

A kind of giddiness bubbled up inside his chest. Jessamine’s fingers brushed against his shoulders, lingered there a moment as color flooded her cheeks. Her lashes came down to hide her eyes, then her gaze sought him out again as though she was as captivated by him as he was by her.

“What is it?” Jessamine asked with a carefree laugh.

“Fate.”

“You said you don’t believe in fate.”

“Tonight, I do.” He laughed again and twirled her until they were both breathless and dizzy.

Again, the tempo of the music changed. The beat grew softer, slower, more soothing than celebratory. Alan drew Jessamine against his chest. The circles they inscribed became smaller and smaller, their footsteps slower and slower until they were barely moving at all, hardly swaying to the strains of the music. He could feel the flutter of her heartbeat, could smell the subtle scent of jasmine in her hair.

She gave an audible sigh and leaned her head against his chest.

He tightened his arms around her. As he turned his head to rest his cheek against the top of her hair, he noticed a woman standing less than five paces from them. She was older than the woman who had tried to attract his attention before. And she wore a darker veil, indicating her married status. She motioned with her hands for them to follow her.

“Jessamine,” Alan said softly. He pulled out of their embrace.

A flow of words issued from the woman. Jessamine
had been right about his needing her translation skills.

Jessamine turned her head toward the woman and smiled. “She wants to offer us a bed for the night.”

“We’d be safer here with the Bedouins than out in the desert,” Alan mused. “The assassins we met earlier would think twice before attacking such a large group of men.”

“If we are safer, then you might actually sleep?” she prompted.

His mouth titled in a quickly suppressed smile. “Aye.” She had noticed his sleeplessness. Which meant she hadn’t slept well either. It would do them both good to relax, even for a short time. Alan nodded to the woman.

She turned and led them to a colorful blanket on the far side of the room. At the cloth’s edge, Jessamine’s smile faded. He was certain she had expected more than a place upon the stone floor. He didn’t know why, but he imagined she was used to great luxury in whatever life she’d fled.

“It’ll be better than it seems,” Alan encouraged.

“This is perfect.” She spoke to the older woman, who bowed, then left. “I thanked her for her kindness.” The words trailed off as she stared, ramrod stiff, at the small blanket.

“Are you certain you’ll be all right here, Princess?”

“What!” She spun toward him. The color drained from her cheeks.

Silence thudded between them until finally he eased the tension with a smile. “I was teasing you, Jessamine.” He drew his sword and set it at the edge of the blanket, then motioned for her to lie down first.

She straightened and looked at him squarely. “Don’t call me that. I don’t like it.” With that, she marched
onto the blanket and sat down before curling against the wall with her back toward him.

Alan frowned at her back. What had he said that had upset her so?

Jessamine stared at the wall. She lay stiff and unmoving with her arm tucked beneath her head as Alan lowered himself beside her. She’d been terrified when he’d called her Princess. She’d been certain for a moment that he’d discovered her secret.

What would he do if he did find out who she was? Would he send her back to Spain? Would he treat her differently? She frowned into the darkness. Only one time before had she managed to slip past the palace guards. She’d experienced an afternoon of freedom among the commoners. She smiled at the memory of walking through the streets unescorted, of eating a sugared fig without the benefit of a royal taster. While walking near the river, she’d loosened her mantilla and allowed a breeze to blow through her hair. It had been the best day of her life, until today.

Her thoughts returned to the present as the music faded. The sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber as others settled down for the night. Her body tingled from her efforts to remain still. She tried to block out the feel of the rock as it pressed against her hip. The pressure increased until she felt as though her body would shatter.

With a sigh, she rolled onto her back. She could feel the warmth of Alan’s body alongside hers. His musky,
masculine scent filled the air between them, heightening her awareness of him.

She stared at the ceiling of the chamber. The flames from the fire sent shimmering light across the gold-hued rock. Dark shapes moved in and out of the light as the Bedouins settled to sleep. It didn’t take long for a hush to fall over the room.

Relax,
she told herself for what had to be the hundredth time, but she couldn’t do it. Alan and she had spent the past four days together. Granted, he’d been wounded and close to unconsciousness for the first two. Last night they’d spent the night alone. But she’d been not quite herself then, thanks to the assassin’s poison.

Tonight was the first night they were both themselves, influenced by nothing but the night air and the warmth of each other’s bodies. Gradually she relaxed as the light from the fire died and darkness blanketed the chamber. She heard the soft, even cadence of Alan’s breathing. She smiled into the darkness, pleased they’d found a measure of security among the Bedouins.

Jessamine stared into the darkness and felt the tension in her shoulders ease. They’d found the stones of fire today. It was proof they were on the right path. The prophecy was guiding them toward the ark.

Alan sighed in his sleep, nestling closer to the warm body spooned tightly against his own. Something tickled his nostrils. He wiggled his nose and pushed the offending strands of hair out of the way.

He tightened his arms around her body. He felt the slow, steady beat of his heart. A weird mix of elation and wonder filled him when he realized he’d let his guard down and slept deeply for the first time in almost a year.

A soft sigh came from Jessamine as she rolled over to
face him. Her warm, firm breasts pressed against his chest. The contact jolted him fully awake. He blinked twice at the sight that greeted him.

Jessamine curled against him with the same smile of contentment he’d felt moments before. Her face was turned up to his, and their lips were no more than a handbreadth apart. Her even, peaceful breath caressed his face and teased his lips.

He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to shift forward, to bring their lips into contact. It would be so easy to give himself over to the desire that had his pulse racing. But he held himself back, using all his willpower to remain still.

He studied her honey-colored face. Beautiful. Elegant. Innocent. She was the kind of woman who inspired men to be more than they thought they could be. He frowned as he remembered the man who’d followed her across a sea. She was also the sort of woman who drove men to great violence.

The conde was proof of that.

And she was running from the blackguard. At times, he saw shadows in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He reached out and pushed a silken strand of her dark hair away from her cheek. She sighed. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened.

He and Jessamine stared at each other for a long moment as the sounds of others moving about filtered into his awareness. Then she moved her head back, but not her body. “Good morrow.”

“Good morrow,” he replied, pleased she didn’t want this moment to end any more than he did. He reached up and stroked his thumb across her cheek.

She leaned in to his touch. “Your thumb is calloused.”

His movements ceased.

“It was just an observation.” She reached up and rubbed the tip of her own thumb against the ridge of hard skin.

“I’m a warrior. My hands are covered with calluses and scars.” He tried to tug his hand away, but she held tight.

“You’re a survivor.” Her words were little more than a whisper, and he felt the brush of silky skin against his knuckles. A kiss. Nay, more a salute. Something that had lain undisturbed inside him for years contracted, or expanded, he couldn’t have said which. Only that her touch moved him beyond words.

No one but his brothers had cared about him, for as long as he could remember. His story was no different from that of so many of the Templars. They’d given up everything to join the order. He’d said good-bye to what little family he had and embraced an unknown future fighting for his king, his country, his God. Fighting. Alan closed his eyes. Always fighting.

And until Teba, they had won every battle. Pain and remorse twisted inside him like a physical thing. He drew a sharp breath at the intensity.

“Alan.” Her voice was soft, yet it shattered the memories, rescued him from the pain that always followed. “Tell me something good, some happy memory from your past.”

A good memory? There weren’t many. He’d spent so much of his youth and young adulthood alone. “There was the time I broke my nose.”

Her gaze immediately went to the slight crook in his nose. “That’s not a good memory.”

“It was. I think that was probably my father’s proudest day. My father tended to be rather brutish. I didn’t want to be like him. But that day I was mad. I won the sparring matches—every one of them—and had a
bloody face to prove it. He marched me through the village with such pride.”

Alan released a sigh. “I never felt much need for fisticuffs, but the older lads learned I could speak well enough with my fists when they’d earned my ire,” he said, remembering the moment.

“I was feeling no pain, believe me.” Even years later, a wave of satisfaction rode through him. “My father and I spent the entire day together.”

“He was proud of you,” Jessamine said, the words catching in her throat.

“That day. There was never another.”

“Why not?”

“He and my mother both drowned a week later. They were visiting my mother’s family on one of the outer isles. Their boat took on water. And although my father was a fierce warrior on land, he couldn’t swim, and the sea took their lives.”

She reached for his hand and lifted it with both of hers. “And because you could do nothing to save them you’ve been punishing yourself for their deaths ever since, haven’t you?”

“Aye.”

The answer emerged without any thought, an acknowledgment of a truth he had never admitted before.

She was right. That was the moment his life had changed. Afterward, he’d isolated himself even more from the others in his clan.

“Aye,” he repeated. “I turned away from everyone and everything from that moment on. I became the warrior my father wanted me to become, but I did it my way, using logic and strategy, and that was what brought me to where I am today. My king, Robert the Bruce, respected my skills and rewarded me for them.”

He slanted his head farther back upon the blanket
and stared at the ceiling. The course of his life had led him here, to this moment, to this quest, along with this woman.

Coincidence or fate?

He sat up and grabbed the nearby saddlebag with a sudden thrill that he could believe in
something
again. He truly believed he and Jessamine would find the ark. The Templar letters he’d been given might tell them where to look next. Perhaps Jessamine would understand the clues he’d been unable to decipher upon his last reading.

The majority of the Bedouins were still barely stirring. Jessamine and he could read the letters in relative isolation. Alan sat down beside Jessamine, who was leaning back against the wall.

“There are clues hidden in these letters about the ark’s location.” He could feel her gaze on him as he unfolded the first letter. “But I’ve been unable to figure anything out so far.” He handed the letter to her, then settled back against the wall and picked up the other letter.

“The first letter was written as the knights were fleeing. The second letter came from somewhere in the Judean wilderness after they’d hidden the ark in what I’d mistakenly assumed was the city of stone.”

Alan tried to concentrate on the words written by Sir William of Tyre to Bishop Baldwin Lambert, but found it impossible. He was too acutely conscious of Jessamine sitting next to him, her eyes wide as she read the story of the fall of Acre. He’d read that particular letter at least ten times already. The words tumbled through his mind, creating vivid pictures of those last moments before the Pilgrims’ Castle had fallen into enemy hands.

Your Holiness,

A terrible tragedy befalls us this morn as the Sultan of Egypt and his Mamluk warriors storm the fortress of
Atlit. Agonized screams pierce the air. Templars fall as the enemy lays siege to the temple compound.

My fingers tighten on the quill. The attack is fierce and we are vulnerable as we never have been before. The knowledge I possess, the location of the secret, is too sensitive to trust to pen and paper. I cannot be taken, I cannot risk the enemy acquiring the secrets I have harbored in my soul for many long years.

To flee, with my knowledge intact, is my only option. And yet I hesitate. My heart goes out to the men who fall beneath the blade of our enemy. Yet they would rather die than become slaves to those who slaughter them.

From the small arrow slit in the tower I can see dark-clothed warriors pouring through the gates. They slay the Templars with their fierce curved swords and put their torches to anything that burns.

The castle is surrounded. I am afraid. Yet I must take precious moments to send you these clues, should I fail in my goal. The secret lies in the Judean wilderness, in a city of nothing but stone.

The stone will speak if only you will listen. The answer lies in the stone.

Your servant, William of Tyre

Jessamine looked up at Alan in surprise. “The city of stone. You thought Sir William meant Petra,” she said softly.

“Aye. It was the logical location for the ark.”

She frowned down at the paper in her hands. “Stone does not speak. What does William refer to? The sound we heard yesterday just outside the treasury?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Such a noise could hardly be considered speaking.”

She folded the letter and handed it back to him. “Does the other letter make anything clearer?”

“Hardly. If anything, it makes the whole puzzle even more confusing.” He handed her the second of the two letters.

She absently rubbed her thumb over the red wax seal. “William must have reached safety if he wrote a second letter and was able to seal it with wax.” She frowned down at the yellowed papyrus. He knew the words she read by heart.

Your Holiness
,

Flames claw at the night sky as I stand safely away in the distance, looking back on all that remains of the last Templar stronghold. My chest constricts as I grieve for the lives lost and the destruction of our home. I am out of danger and my knowledge of the secret is safe, for now.

I hope to lose myself in the western region of Jordan, in the Wadi Rum, among the mountains of Moses, where I shall take up my calling as the secret’s guardian.

Never shall I look back on the burning walls of Atlit as I embrace my future. The hidden seal is the only further clue I offer as to the location of the secret. The seal reveals everything.

Your servant, William of Tyre

Jessamine set the letter in her lap and stared thoughtfully at the growing light of dawn creeping through the large doorway of the Urn Tomb. “Whatever happened to William of Tyre?”

“No one ever heard from him again. It was assumed he died out here in the wilderness.”

Carefully, she refolded the papyrus and cradled it in her hands. “The letters came to the Templars from the bishop?”

Alan nodded. “For forty years the bishop has hoped to discover what it was William of Tyre knew about the
ark. The bishop entrusted the letters to Robert the Bruce when the king talked of organizing another crusade to the Holy Land. That crusade never came about. What you saw at Teba was the end of the king’s crusader dream.”

“Perhaps the dream of a crusade died along with your brothers, but the king’s dream lives on through you. Are you not here in the Holy Land, searching for the artifact that the bishop and the king hoped to find?”

“Robert the Bruce asked me to go on to the Holy Land should something happen to my brothers.” Alan shook his head. “It was almost as if he knew of our failure before it had even come about. The king made me promise that I would go on and finish what we’d all started.”

Jessamine smiled. “Prophecy affects our lives in many ways. Perhaps your king did know what would happen. Perhaps he knew your mission was of the greatest importance.”

Alan chuckled. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

“No, not when I really believe in something.” She absently stroked the red wax seal. “The one thing that keeps going through my mind is the reference in the second letter to the hidden seal.” Her gaze met his. “My prophecy talks of a hidden seal as well: ‘Only without sight will you know what is real and bring to the world the hidden seal.’”

Her words sparked something inside him. Excitement flared. Coincidence again that the second letter and the second stanza had similar language? Petra. The stone speaking. The hidden seal? What could it all mean?